


SINNERMAN

by HKHolmes911



Series: SINNERMAN [3]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-16
Updated: 2014-09-16
Packaged: 2018-02-17 16:49:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,377
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2316623
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HKHolmes911/pseuds/HKHolmes911
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Who leaves a wedding early? Why would some one leave a wedding early.<br/>Two years pasted. Sherlock has changed and so has John. We know what changed john. What changed Sherlock?</p>
            </blockquote>





	SINNERMAN

**Author's Note:**

> I want to do another chapter going into more detail of Sherlock's two years out in the wild. I'm just not sure what else I can put him through without breaking my feels.

The music still filtered through the glass. Sherlock swung on his coat. It was the first time he had his armor on in two days. The people back in the room started it sing along with the song and the lights changed from purple to blue and green. Sherlock tried to keep his face blank, tried to convince himself it didn't matter. Almost succeeded in convincing himself he didn't feel. He took his phone out of his pocket. Sliding it open and looked at the text. 

(From Mycroft) There will be a car ready for you at the end of the drive. 

He pocketed the phone. Stopped where he was and looking up at the stars. All that time ago he had told john the he could appreciate the beauty in the stars without knowing their names or how they worked. He looked back at the party in the newlyweds honor. He knew more now than he had that day. He knew how to kill a man. He new how to keep one alive. He had learned about pain, giving it and receiving it. He had learned how to be afraid and still work. Yes he had learned much since that day. He had learned what it meant to be happy and be in anguish. He had learned how to be in love and be heart broken, and he had learned how to be content with being that. Moriarty had taught him what it meant to burn. The mad man had promised Sherlock would feel the fire and he had. John was that fire. The one that kept him fighting when the odds were against him. The one that kept him alive when there was more blood on the floor than in his veins. Every night Sherlock would say his name and see his face and for two years it was all Sherlock knew, blood, pain, death and the fading face of John. H Watson. Yes He had burned. He was burning now. He remembered.  
\---------------------------------------------------

The first time he forgot about john was in the Caribbean. It was a young man with blond hair, and blue eyes. He was tan like john had been when Sherlock had first meet him. He was a bad man, one that knew names. Names that Sherlock needed. The mission, that was all he had in his head. How to save john Watson? Then it went away. The first cuts had been exhilarating. The screams, the power, everything in the world just dropped away. In that moment when the blade first met flesh all the pain and hardship dropped from his shoulders and all that was left was the sound of swallowed screams and the smell of blood. The sound of power and the smell of pain. This was what it felt to be a god. Being above all other. This was truth in it’s simplest form. The way he could manhandle the body before him. The cloth over his face gave him a handhold to tilt the face back as gallon after gallon of water cascaded by and on to the floor. The smell of singed flesh as he applied the electric leads to the tan skin over and over. Smiled the the broken voice screamed and begged. His hands were steady as he pulled the cat-o-nine tales out. Pulled back his arm and let the leather crack once in the air.  
“Oh God No!” blond hair flattened down and shining with cold sweat and water. Blue eyes filled with pain and fear begging for mercy. Red lips painted with blood and split down the sides. The sweet voice raw from screaming. JOHN. His John. He was thrown into his mind palace, where the smell of tea and gunpowder were one with blond hair and blue eyes. Sherlock sat on that creaky unstable old chair till the sun came up. After an hour of Sherlock blank stair the boy screamed and told him all he wanted to know. Who he worked for, where they lived, who there worked for and where they could be found. He quietly begged and pleaded with a sweet broken voice. The sociopath knew what to do. Kill the boy and be on his way. Sherlock however was not sure he could continue.  
“Oh god Yes” That first time in 221B with John. Sherlock had looked into his eyes and for the first time in his life he wasn’t alone. He gutted the boy. The blond hair now red, he spilled all his secrets at Sherlock’s feet. The next day he contacted Mycroft. Six words: I need proof he is alive. The day After he held a picture of John Watson sitting in a deserted coffee shop looking distant with one hand curled around his cup.The inscription on the back in Mycroft’s strange looping hand writing were the words. Caring got you into this mess, it had better be able to get you out.  
Two weeks later he was in Rome in an mansion that was more like a castle. The son of the duke Sherlock truly wanted was at that moment between Sherlock’s knees working his tongue up the detectives long pail legs. Sherlock had his strong violinist’s fingers wrapped in the mans golden hair, holding him down so he could not see Sherlock mouthing another name. the man took Sherlock in his mouth. The pail detectives first blow-job. under a false name by a man that was so stoned he would never remember. Crying out a different name and seeing a different face when he could no longer hold back and came. It was exhilarating, the way he held the man down. Feeling the way he sucked and mewled over a organ he had never even considered. The power he had as the man forced himself down Sherlock’s cock. The tight convulsing way the mans throat pulsed around him as the gag reflect was bypassed. When the air was cut off how the blond writhed and clutched at Sherlock’s thighs.John. His John would never be this for him. John. H Watson would never be his first. He first kiss, his first touch, his first fuck. His first love? yes he was already that. Wasn't that just pathetic.  
\-----------------------------------------------  
He walked down the dark gravel drive away from the wedding party. In the distance he could still hear the music. Marry and John were probably still dancing. He had always loved to dance. Even when he was a child he took ballet simply because he loved it. It only added to the abuse that was rained down upon him by his so called peers. Not that it bothered him, he was used to it. Mr. Hudson had commented on his dancing when she had walked in on johns lesson.  
“Who leaves a wedding early?” That’s what she had said. With a tear in her eye as she foretold the future. The man in love with the groom. The one that in no longer needed or wanted. The one that is being replaced. The broken thing must leave early. The one to scorched and burnt to be kept. Sherlock knew he should be angry. He should want to scream and rage and claw down the world with his bear hands. He should feel angry. He should feel something.  
“who leaves a wedding early?” Something cracked by fire and stained with blood. John would never love him. He was to much for john. He had left john. He had left once to protect him. To save him. And he was leaving again fro the same reason. Sherlock would die if it kept john safe. There were times when he wished he had. The black state car pulled up at the gate. Sherlock headed for it.  
\--------------------------------------------------------------------- 

Moriarty had won. He had taught Sherlock to care. Given his a heart and a soul and now he would feel the loss of it every day for the rest of his life. He burned. He was burning and the pain was more than he could bear. Moriarty had won, because he had learned to care, he had learned to love,and he had learned to miss. Moriarty won. He had no more to give, because he had no more to lose.

**Author's Note:**

> Please comment your words keep me writing.


End file.
